


Tested

by Sarcasticles



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 10:38:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcasticles/pseuds/Sarcasticles
Summary: Riza wasn't sure what she was thinking when she tested him for the first time.





	Tested

Riza wasn't sure what she was thinking when she tested him the first time. Sheer irritation played a part, but it was a small part. Certainly she was jealous of the attention her father gave to his newest student. Attention that Riza would never know, no matter how she tried to please.

But mostly she was curious.

She was a tidy, fastidious girl, and since the death of her mother the chore of maintaining the house had fallen onto her small shoulders. Riza spent hours cleaning, polishing, and washing even as her father's disinterest in domestic affairs grew into outright negligence. It was not Riza's fault that there was no money, and it physically hurt to see her home fall into disrepair even as she did her utmost to stymie the slow decay.

Her father did not share her views, and his study was the one room that Riza was not allowed to enter. On the days when her father buried himself into intense research a faint odor of sweat and stale air would waft into the hallway; when he deemed to practice his alchemy there was the unmistakable smell of ozone and smoke.

Riza did not know which was worse.

Her only job in these instances was to bring his meals when he invariably forgot to come down to eat. She would despair at the precarious stacks of scrolls and books, the half-filled bottles of ink, broken quills thrown to the floor in agitation. The detritus littered about reminded her of the layers of mast on a forest floor—one errant spark would have set the whole house on fire, but her father didn't care. His precious alchemy was the only thing that could capture his attention.

Alchemy, and now Roy Mustang. Common wisdom stated that the student often took on the mannerisms of the master, and young Mr. Mustang was a slob. Father had lent him several thick texts to study out of, and more often than not Roy would leave them strewn about all over the house. _Riza's_ domain. The one place where she had any modicum of control over her life.

Riza was quiet and non-confrontational by nature, but there were some things she would not stand for. She bided her time, waiting till he was out of the house and Father was in his study, before collecting the heavy tomes and entering the guest bedroom her father's apprentice occupied. It was sparsely decorated—Father did not want his students distracted by creature comforts—and besides the bed and small clothes chest, a bookshelf was the only furniture in the room.

There was a tiny ping of guilt as Riza realized she was intruding on Roy Mustang's privacy, but that was quickly quashed. A more sensible part of her warned that she was testing the limits of her father's pupil, and the only thing more frightening than a trained alchemist was a cocksure amateur.

Riza decided that she didn't care. She organized the books alphabetically and went to start the washing. It was a hard, difficult task even for the adult women of the village while she was only a girl, and the effort took her entire attention. Riza was busy trying to work out the stains of her father's threadbare shirt when Roy returned to the house, and she hardly registered his appearance as he stumbled, exhausted and dirty, through the back door.

 _How many days did he wear this?_ Riza wondered as she scraped her knuckles against the washboard for what felt like the hundredth time. She was immediately ashamed of the traitorous thought. Her father was a genius and deserving of her utmost respect. Many times Riza had heard him whisper that his flame alchemy was the greatest and most terrible of all the arts, and she believed him. He had no time to waste on trivial matters like laundry.

The back door burst open once more, and Riza hurried back to her task. She could tell by the footsteps that it was Mr. Mustang and not her father, and she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders before remembering what she'd done and how angry he'd be. It was pure foolishness, interfering with an alchemist's studies…

Riza did not pause her work as Roy Mustang approached her. She did not stop as he studied her, his hands in his pockets. He wore his usual half-smile (so unlike Father's scowl) but his expression was inscrutable.

"Hey."

It would be impolite to continue working after being addressed, and Riza set down the washboard and shirt. "May I help you?"

His weight shifted, the smile cracked. "Hey, um, did you move my books?"

"I put them away in their proper places," Riza said.

"Oh. Well, thanks. I haven't been the most thoughtful guest. You won't have to clean up after me again, I promise."

Riza blinked, not comprehending the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"It's not that I'm not grateful for everything you've done, or Master Hawkeye," Roy rambled on. "It's just…it's hard. I'm so tired half the time I can't remember to take my shoes off before I go to bed at night."

"You thought it would be easy?" Riza said, a hint of reproach in her voice. She'd seen firsthand the sacrifice her father made for his craft and instinctively knew the burden he carried. Some called it a sickness, that Berthord Hawkeye's thirst for knowledge had driven him mad. Riza knew better.

"No, of course not!" Roy said. "But you gotta admit, your father is a hard one to please. At this rate he'll never teach me flame alchemy."

"Equivalent exchange. For something to be gained, something of equal value must be lost," Riza said softly, almost to herself. There was a beat of awkward silence, and suddenly she found that she couldn't look Roy in the eye. Riza bent down to resume her washing, and scrubbed her father's shirt for almost a minute before realizing Roy Mustang hadn't taken the hint and let her be.

Before she could say anything else he was kneeled beside her, rolling up his sleeves. Riza could see the shadow of exhaustion in his dark eyes, but he took her look of indignation with a smile. "Equivalent exchange, right? You picked up after me, it's only fair I help you with the laundry."

* * *

Roy Mustang was not the first pupil her father took on, but he was the only one who stayed and the only one Riza ever cared for. He had an aura of self-confidence that perhaps outstripped his skill—at least initially—but he seemed to lack the hubris that seemed innate to most alchemists.

He brought a spark of life to her father's dying soul, a brilliant burst of flame that warmed the house even on the coldest of days. Riza had set forth her test, and he passed. Never again did he leave out his books for her to pick up.

Perhaps that was why she was so devastated when he left. With no Roy Mustang to teach, tutor, grow, there was nothing to keep her father from sequestering himself in his study, with only the cold, hard truths of alchemy to occupy him. Passion grew to obsession, obsession to paranoia, until he became convinced that only the most drastic of measures would ensure that his research would reach to posterity. Riza could not give her father what he needed, but that did not stop her from offering her back. That was how equivalent exchange worked, right? Her body, her submission and obedience, ought to have been enough to earn his love.

But it seemed that the laws of alchemy didn't apply to the human heart, and her efforts were in vain.

* * *

Roy Mustang was not the first to leave the Hawkeye household, but he was the first to return. Riza knew that she was not worthy of his attention, that he had only come back for her father's secrets, but that did not stop him from showing the same kindness after her father's death that he'd exemplified the day he helped her with the laundry all those years ago.

Riza wasn't sure what she was thinking when she tested him for a second time. The burden her father had given her was great, and by the time of his passing she wanted to be rid of it. But for all he mistreated her, Riza respected her father too much to let her misery cloud her judgement. Certainly Roy Mustang's goals were laudable—impossibly so. It was the sort of dream only an idealist could even entertain for more than a moment. It appealed immensely to her battered soul, even if she had seen far too much ugliness to believe it could become a reality.

Mostly she was curious. There was no mistaking the zeal in Roy Mustang's voice when he spoke about his dreams for the future, no missing the passion and the fire that reminded her of her father at his worst. But instead of isolating himself from the rest of the world until he choked on his own bitterness, Roy Mustang wanted to use his abilities for the good of the people.

The difference was enormous, and in many ways he believed in the ideals that Berthord Hawkeye often preached but never managed to live out. The question became, could Roy Mustang succeed where her father failed?

Riza wanted to say yes, but she had no way of knowing for sure. She decided she would find out for herself by sharing the secrets carved onto her back. She would never forget the shame of exposing herself to him, a near stranger after years of separation. She would never forget his horror when he realized what her father had done, or his promise that he would make things right, not just to her, but for everyone.

It was this promise that Riza clung to, the greatest test of them all—one that he was almost certainly destined to fail. Even so, Riza never forgot, and stubborn, pigheaded, and irrational being that she was, she decided that she would be there to ensure that he kept it.

 


End file.
